<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>T.R.I.P.P. Part 1: Behind Blue Eyes: Prelude to an intervention. by BeastofMayhem</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502103">T.R.I.P.P. Part 1: Behind Blue Eyes: Prelude to an intervention.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastofMayhem/pseuds/BeastofMayhem'>BeastofMayhem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>T.R.I.P.P [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastofMayhem/pseuds/BeastofMayhem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>30th August 2003 - T.R.I.P.P HQ Oxfordshire</p><p>Egon Spengler is about to receive a very important phone call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>T.R.I.P.P [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087799</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>T.R.I.P.P. Part 1: Behind Blue Eyes: Prelude to an intervention.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was supposed to take three weeks. He's been in the UK now for nearly six months. Rooting out the last vestiges of the Rhadamanthus Foundation from British soil, is proving more arduous than even his brilliant mind could even fathom. The faster the team at the Tobin Institute closed down the myriad puppet companies that Rhadamanthus had seeded over here during the last few decades, the faster new branches seem to spring up. It doesn't help that through various insidious means, not exclusively bribery and blackmail, Rhadamanthus has a network of very powerful allies. Half the time, cutting through the vast forests of red tape, has led only to a inaccessible brick wall. </p><p>Things used to be easier in the 80's. You could point a particle thrower at something, kick a trap underneath it and hopefully that would be the end of it. </p><p>But that's not the way they do things in the UK. When Dicken published "Little Dorrit" in 1857, the Circumlocution Office was supposed to be a parody of officious bureaucracy, not a model for actual government procedure. It's all very exhausting.</p><p>Which is why, at 4am on a Saturday in late summer, Professor Egon Spengler, is enjoying a deep, dreamless sleep.</p><p>That is, until the knocking started.</p><p>*******</p><p>"Egon!" Dr. Braxtan's West Country burr booms through the closed door. "For god's sake man, wake up!" The frantic knocking now becomes pounding. Egon rises groggily from his sleep, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. The creaks from his bones as he stretches into consciousness, reminds him that he is no longer a young man, if he'd ever considered himself to be one. He flips on the light, throws on his dressing gown and stumbles towards the door. Jessica Braxton's face is a picture of apprehension. This is not a woman who was fazed easily. She's been working for the Institute now for nearly two decades, she's seen a lot of paranormal related business during that time and faced it with a level of stoicism that would shame the Ancient Greeks, but right now, the expression on her face, fills Egon with an icy sense of dread.</p><p>"What's happened?"</p><p>"You're needed up upstairs. We may have an emergency on our hands."</p><p>"Is it Rhadamanthus?" Egon queries as he closes his door and hurriedly follows Braxtan down the dormitory corridor to the stairway leading to the Ops room. </p><p>"No. Potentially worse."</p><p>"How could it be worse?"</p><p>Braxtan paused with her hand on the door to Ops room. She took a deep breath. "We've just had a phone call from Patricia Elgin"</p><p>The name Elgin rang alarm bells in Egon's head. How old would Clare be now? Fourteen? Fifteen? He'd always meant to drop in on the Elgin family anytime he'd been in the in the country, but with one thing and another he'd never had the opportunity.  It had been no small source of anxiety to him how the onset of adolescence, would effect Clare's, for want of a better word, condition. </p><p>Well, he has his answer now.</p><p>He picks up the handset that lies idle beside Braxtan's workstation. </p><p>"Hello? Mrs Elgin? It's Egon Spengler. Tell me what happened"</p><p>He listens to her tearful Welsh tones echoing down the phone, his eyes widening at each new sentence. As he listens he takes copious notes on the pad beside the phone. At one point he wanders over to his own desk, retrieves his copy of "Tobin's Spirit Guide" and quickly flips through it. Not finding anything relevant to the conversation, he slaps the book shut with a frustrated grimace. Though the situation isn't as bad as he imagined, it's still pretty bad. He looks at the clock. It's nearly half past four.  He holds the phone to his chest and looks at Dr. Braxtan. "How long would it take to get to Ystrad Rhondda from here?"</p><p>If you're lucky, two, maybe two and a half hours?."</p><p>He turns back to the phone. "We'll try to be there as soon as possible. Keep Clare warm, keep her calm, and if you can, try and keep her awake."</p><p>At the other end of the line, Patricia Elgin breaths a grateful sigh of relief and hangs up.</p><p>"I suppose you'll be needing me on shotgun."</p><p>Braxtan's tone is one of surprising reluctance.</p><p> "It would be ideal, Jessica. You  <i>were</i> the initial operative after the Ystrad incident."</p><p>"I was out of my depth, Egon. It's why we had to call you in on this one."</p><p>"Please, Jess. You know the case, you know the family. And if the situation is a serious as Patricia Elgin is making it out to be, I really don't want to go in there alone."</p><p>There was a long pause. The two scientists regarded each other silently across the deserted office.</p><p>"Fine," exhaled Dr. Braxtan, eventually.  "I'll get an away kit sorted and dig out the relevant files from the archive."</p><p>"Captain Effingham should be awake by now. If not, get him up, inform him of the situation. I'll ring Ross Gower and do likewise. Be prepared to leave at six at the latest."</p><p>"Will do. Anything else?"</p><p>Egon hands her the notepad. "You ever hear of this name before? I couldn't find any references to it in the spirit guide."</p><p>"Criafol Gogledd? Not a name I'm familiar with, but I'll have a check in the archive while I'm down there. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"Because Patricia Elgin said that was what her daughter was screaming when they found her."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>